He was turning to leave when a door slammed behind him. Footsteps followed—too close, too fast. “Hey!” someone shouted. Sam ran. Gravel cut into his palms when he stumbled, phone clenched tight, recording still running as lights flared behind him.
A hand brushed his jacket. Sam twisted free and vaulted a low fence, landing hard but upright. He didn’t stop running until his lungs burned and the road swallowed him again. Only then did he check the footage—hands shaking, breath ragged—and realize he had exactly what he needed.